


Break Point

by GalaxyAqua



Series: Theory of Mortal Sentiments [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Hospitals, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Sports injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Swearing, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: The ball that thumps against the wall beats a steady rhythm, back-and-forth from his hand to the brick, and he thinks he might have been at it for hours, but it probably doesn’t matter. After the accident, the entire tennis club disbanded, and lobbing a ball by himself wasn’t going to bring it back.It’s just that, seeing Toujou in the hospital, he’s found that she is still so determined, and he can’t tell her that she’s never going to play again – not when it’s all his fault.The last thing Hoshi wanted was to leave such a mess behind.





	Break Point

 

The details of the accident are a blur to him.

He’s on the court, racquet in hand, lobbying the ball over the net and racing to knock it back. It’s a fast-paced, instinctual motion. For Hoshi Ryouma, tennis comes easy.

The ball is spinning on its rebound. Fast, but not fast enough.

Hoshi is agile, keen-eyed, locking onto the ball to rally it back again. It returns high, as if they hoped to mock him. They’re playing doubles for a reason, though. Toujou is on his left, and she’s swift enough to catch any balls too high for Hoshi to jump to.

She scores the point. Her tennis shoes squeak as she lands, and when she smiles at him, he smiles back.

“Nice one,” he says.

“Thanks,” she grins, and it’s inelegant and toothy but that’s how Toujou is, only ever truly free when she’s playing on the court.

She spins her racquet in her hand, and he smirks. They’re on a winning streak today. She must be in a good mood. It’s kind of infectious.

That being said.

Their opponents aren’t taking it well.

Hoshi only closes his eyes for a second. He hears the sounds from beyond the court fade out, and focuses on the sound of his own breathing, and Toujou’s presence. She is faltering, a little. He thinks her ankle must be flaring up again. They would tend to it after the match is done.

On the other side of the net, there are whispers.

His opponent serves the ball. Cross-court. It whizzes past Hoshi’s head, and he doesn’t dive for it, because he knows it will land out of bounds. In fact, he steps out of its way so he won’t obstruct it. Tactical.

He trusts himself, in this moment, and trusts his judgement won’t fail him. He hears the hush of the crowd before he sees it, and he finds the ball quickly, wondering where he must have miscalculated and then —

It takes out Toujou’s left eye and knocks her clean off her feet.

She doesn’t get up.

 

* * *

 

There’s blood when he takes hold of her face, and he doesn’t even hear himself shouting but people are rushing in, and a woman in uniform pushes him aside to examine Toujou’s head.

Like a voice warbling through water, he hears “replacement ball” and “foul play” but it doesn’t matter. Everything is echoing, echoing, echoing, and Toujou is not responding to any call of her name. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters until he knows she’s going to be alright.

 

* * *

 

The ambulance is blaring when they carry her away in a stretcher, and Hoshi can’t think.

Toujou is one of the most hardworking people he knows, and it’s because she has no talent in anything — she knows it, everybody knows it, she is the weak link in their club but she works harder than anyone else.

She’s got the bruises all over her arms and legs to prove it.

She doesn’t deserve this.

 

* * *

 

The police question him for a while. He doesn’t remember what he said. He just peels the fuzzy layer from the ball on the bench, swallowing shakily when he feels cool metal beneath.

“What is this made of?” He asks, but nobody answers. “Isn’t this illegal?”

“What’s done is done, and we cannot do anything about it,” he hears his tennis coach say. Hoshi whirls to confront him, but he’s called over by the police and he has to leave him be.

The culprits behind the dud ball sneer at him from across the room, spinning their tennis visors backwards as they snicker like monkeys on the bench.

“You just as good as forfeited, little Hoshi-chan,” one of them sings teasingly. “How does it feel giving up a match like a coward?”

“This court isn’t made for babies, Hoshi-chan,” his partner drawls, and they nudge each other playfully, chuckling all the while.

“We didn’t fucking forfeit—” Hoshi snarls, gripping the ball tight. “Toujou is out of play! She got knocked out, for god’s sake, that’s not a forfeit!”

“You didn’t continue playing so you automatically forfeited! Thanks for the easy win!”

He grits his teeth. “Are you listening to me? We couldn’t play!”

“Why? You’re still able to play, aren’t you? Why didn’t you grab another partner and keep going?”

“You just couldn’t handle the thought of losing, huh? Without that gorgeous tennis babe, you’d be nothing!”

“It’s a shame Toujou-chan sucks so much that she couldn’t even dodge such a slow ball,” more laughter, “She should have just quit while she was ahead!”

The ball leaves his hands and smashes against the wall between them. Splintering the wood. They stare at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck off!” He snaps. Wildly. Vividly. “This is all your fault! Is this some kind of game to you?! Someone got seriously hurt today and maybe you don’t care but whatever happens to her is your fault!”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” the taller of the two plucks the ball out of the wall and smirks. “Y’see, this was just a duty bestowed upon us. The real culprit is already beginning to twist the truth.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Hoshi demands, fists clenching.

“It means that come Monday morning, the one who hurt poor Toujou-chan will be _you_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Coach Aomori meets him with a grim expression outside the building.

“Hoshi,” he starts gruffly. “I’m gonna drive you to the hospital, so you can reconvene with Toujou, and make sure she’s alright for me, yeah?”

“Why can’t you see for yourself?”

“There is a mess I need to entangle elsewhere,” he sighs, running a hand through his ashen hair. “Otherwise, they’re shutting down the club.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re out of their minds, kid,” coach tells him with a tight frown. “They think you were the one who switched the ball, for some reason. They think you were the one who told ‘em to aim for Toujou and take her out. I have no idea why.”

Hoshi clenches his fists. Tense, tense, tense. “You know I didn’t do it, right, Coach?”

“I do.” He sighs. “You’re a good kid, Hoshi. But I’d lay low if I were you. I don’t know who’s pulling the strings here but they’re not going easy on you. Now let’s go. Hopefully the news hasn’t spread to the hospital yet.”

Hoshi doesn’t point out that he doesn’t sound so hopeful about that.

 

* * *

 

As expected, he’s told not to visit until morning.

He doesn’t listen.

 

* * *

 

With a stubborn set to his jaw, he seats himself next to another high schooler in the waiting room – a tall, sinewy character that’s preoccupied with his phone and absentmindedly pushing long hair out of his face.

“Long night, huh?” Hoshi offers as way of conversation. He’s got nothing better to do, anyway. He needs a distraction or he feels like he might implode from overthinking alone.

The other student peers down at him, then back at his phone. “Well, it’s been many for me. But yes, quite a long night indeed.”

“Damn, sorry about that.” He replies, genuinely sympathetic even if his tone was too tired to show it. “Must be harsh.”

“I do not mind the nighttime so much, however the cost of it all… could be better, I admit.”

Hoshi winces, turning away. There’s not much he can say to that. He knows what it’s like to be short on cash, especially when it’s needed most. “I’m really sorry to hear it.”

The clock ticks on.

His companion slides his finger up to catch a full combo.

The sounds of the game are muted, but Hoshi can hear it playing in his head, because the other kids at the tennis club play _Piyo Piyo_ all the time.

Hoshi lifts his head to look at him again. “Hey, not to be insensitive but… what about your parents?”

“Dead,” he replies, surrendering the information far too quickly and easily for Hoshi to be completely comfortable hearing it. “It’s just my sister and I left, I suppose… and a large pile of debt.”

He winces again, less obviously this time. “Yeah, the health system sucks. I hope she gets better soon.”

“Mm,” the guy keeps tapping away at his phone. “I hope your friend gets better, too. I’ve seen her here far too many times to not raise a little concern.”

It doesn’t register at first.

Then, Hoshi feels a sudden chill run down his spine and he straightens, considerably more alert. “What do you mean by that?”

The stranger glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “It is not my place to say. I do not know her personally, and my assumptions are only based off of seeing her repeatedly and the occasional conversation my sister has with her.”

“Tell me.” Hoshi says carefully. “How often is she here?”

“Every couple of weeks or so,” he muses. “Mostly night visits. To– touhou-san, was it?”

“Toujou.” Hoshi affirms, jaw tight. “She’s my tennis partner.”

“Well, well, tennis must be a more brutal sport than I thought. How long have you been playing together, um, sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name…?”

“... Hoshi,” he answers. “And it’s been a while. Two years, maybe. Three.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Interesting. I’m Shinguuji. Nice to meet you, Hoshi-kun.”

“A pleasure.” Hoshi says, nodding. “What about you? Play any sports?”

“Oh, no,” Shinguuji laughs, far too thinly to be sincere. “You wouldn’t catch me dead playing any sports.”

“Fair enough,” Hoshi chuckles halfheartedly anyway. “You didn’t look the type.”

 

* * *

 

They finally let him in at Toujou’s request.

She is smiling when he enters, and it’s almost enough to fool him into thinking she’s really doing fine but the bandages wrapped around her head plunge his heart figuratively into his stomach.

“Hey.” He greets curtly.

“Hello,” Toujou says, and her expression softens further. “They told me you dropped by earlier but I didn’t think you were still here.”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he responds, seating himself at her bedside. “Any news on how long you’ll be in hospital?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She gestures to her face, “They’re looking into seeing if they can restore my eyesight, but for now, I’m one eye down.”

“One eye is better than none,” Hoshi shrugs. Hoping to keep the conversation lighthearted.

Luckily, Toujou knows him well, and doesn’t let the atmosphere drop. “Now I can quite literally keep an eye on you all the time. You won’t get away with your mischievous ways any longer, Hoshi.”

“Me? Mischievous?” He laughs. “You’re looking at the wrong guy.”

“You’re a little gremlin, that’s what you are.”

“That is the most inaccurate description of me I have ever heard.”

“Devious,” Toujou jokes, eyes shining with mirth. “You steal people’s socks when they’re sleeping so they lose all their matching pairs.”

“Now that’s just dumb _and_ inconvenient.”

“It’s not so bad wearing mismatched socks,” she muses. “I mean socks are socks. Even if they’re made in a pair, it’s not the end of the world if one of them goes missing.”

“I guess not.” Hoshi hums thoughtfully. “Is that your excuse next time you come to practice with mismatched socks?”

Toujou groans. “That isn’t going to fly by Coach Aomori, is it?”

“Does anything fly by Coach? His reflexes are too fast, he’d catch it immediately.”

“Funny.” Toujou rolls her eyes. “When you get back, you better tell him his A-team isn’t backing out just because of a bad match. If I’m out of here by the end of the week, we still have time to climb up the ranks, you know?”

“Sure, but don’t push yourself,” he answers, brows creasing slightly in concern. “Your health is top priority. We’ll always have next year, so get better at your own pace, got it?”

“No matter what, we’ll play again,” Toujou tells him, nodding firmly. “We’ll play even harder than we ever have before. We’ll even make it to nationals.”

“Aim high.” He says, smiling wryly even though it feels rotten inside. She offers her fist to him and he bumps it with his own. “Won’t stop until we make nationals.”

 

* * *

 

Monday morning, Coach finds him at the school gates and tells him the club is being disbanded.

He also tells him to lay even lower, because he doesn’t know if he’s getting a ticket to the juvenile correction center for a crime he didn’t commit, but even as an authority, the coach says he could not save him even if he tried.

Hoshi thanks him and doesn’t show up to class that day.

 

* * *

 

He thinks about the first time he met Toujou Kirumi, the girl with the too-stiff posture and the too-tight grip on her racquet.

“Ever played tennis before?” He had asked, while the other members of the club were chattering away like they didn’t exist.

“I… have,” she had replied nervously, tapping the racquet restlessly against her thigh, “Only a little, though. Surely not enough to say that I’m any good at it.”

“Can you hit a ball?”

She blinked. “Um. Well. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes, huh?” He laughed, unable to stop the amusement from spreading across his features. “Well, that’s a good start. Let’s warm up and see what you’ve got, yeah? Coach will be here any moment now. Can’t hurt to get started.”

“Okay!” She exclaimed and straightened like a soldier, before growing embarrassed by her enthusiasm and lowering her gaze. “Okay. Thank you for helping me out. I’m Toujou Kirumi, I’m a first year.”

“Hoshi Ryouma, first year.” Hoshi spun the ball he had been holding in his hands and smiled. “Welcome to the Tennis Club.”

 

* * *

 

It took weeks until they could play a match.

Weeks until the other players took them seriously — they were always _little baby Hoshi_ and _useless_ _stupid Toujou_ , and it was demeaning and discouraging but he knew they were going to get there.

He saw the way Toujou trained, and he put all his efforts into his motions until they could cover each other’s weaknesses.

They did drills until they could barely hold their racquets, sweat pouring down their foreheads and the sun blazing up the entire court. The other players had long collapsed in the shade, complaining about the heat, but Toujou and Hoshi kept going, whizzing around cones and rallying the ball between them. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Good work!” Coach Aomori yelled, blowing a whistle to get their attention. “Hoshi! Toujou! Court one! Play first to 21!”

“Oh, my,” Toujou floundered, swinging her racquet about, and sending a smug look in Hoshi’s direction. “That sounds like a challenge… for you.”

“Beating you isn’t a challenge at all,” Hoshi called. “Don’t lose faith completely though. You might not beat me now, but there’s still hope for you yet.”

“You’re going down,” she grinned, pointing her racquet at him. “Let’s play.”

 

* * *

 

They were teamed up for being the losers of the pack, and they were fine with that.

Toujou, with her up-and-coming mean backhand. Her serves were lacking, but her defence was solid.

Hoshi, honing his half volley and overhead shots with all the might he could muster. Also skilled with defence, but he was working on the accuracy of his moves.

Coach always sat them down after practice and told them he was proud of how hard they worked, and he’d thank them for helping him pack up.

They made a game out of it, on days they weren’t too busy, lobbing tennis balls into the basket one by one by one. Coach Aomori would sometimes wheel the basket just out of the way and Toujou would snap at him before remembering herself and Hoshi would laugh, because she’d always get fired up over the smallest things.

 

* * *

 

 

The two of them had a ritual for victories — cheesy as it sounds — a whole, racquet-clattering handshake, a complex wiggle of eyebrows and scrunching of noses. Toujou would inevitably open her bottle too fast and spill tea all over her face, and Hoshi would always pillage tissue packs from the people who handed out free samples to give her a hand in cleaning up.

They’d get yakisoba after a particularly good win, the noodles being Toujou’s favorite, and she’d pick out all the onions diligently, dropping each piece onto Hoshi’s plate.

“Come on, Toujou,” he’d always goad, waving a slice at her. “Onions are good for your eyes.”

She’d always frown at that and threaten him with chili sauce until he surrendered and cheerfully took the onions for himself.

He and Toujou were a team.

That was how it was always supposed to be.

 

* * *

 

The ball that thumps against the wall beats a steady rhythm, back-and-forth from his hand to the brick, and he thinks he might have been at it for hours, but it probably doesn’t matter. After the accident and all the hope he and Toujou had harbored, the disbandment of the club has hit hard, but lobbing a ball by himself wasn’t going to bring it back.

It’s just that, seeing Toujou in the hospital, he’s found that she is still so determined, and he can’t tell her that she’s never going to play again – that none of them are ever going to play again – not when it’s all his fault.

“You’re going to make a hole in that wall if you keep at it like that.” A booming voice shatters the silence, but Hoshi is too tired to react. He keeps throwing and catching. Throwing and catching.

The bulky newcomer snatches the ball mid-air, staring him down with fierce crimson eyes. “What the fuck are you doing? I don’t even know you and I think you’re being pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” Hoshi sighs. “And it’s none of your business, anyway.”

“C’mon, try me,” he sneers. “You think just ‘cause I look tough I’ve never had a depressive episode? I know a depressed kid when I see one.”

“It’s not a depressive episode.” Hoshi grits out. “And I’m not depressed. Give my ball back.”

“Whatever, man,” the guy shrugs, tossing it back. Hoshi catches it with both hands and holds it protectively to his chest. “Can you play catch with another wall? I’m tryna film something here, and I don’t wanna get caught.”

He narrows his eyes. “That sounds shady as fuck.”

“Not shady,” he replies. His wild hair flies with the wind as he peers down his nose at Hoshi, gaze sharp behind his glasses. “Just, well, you’re not depressed, right? So you wouldn't get it.”

“Uh–” Hoshi swallows thickly, suddenly afraid. A myriad of worst case scenarios are flitting through his brain. If he gets caught up in whatever this is, he really might end up in juvenile, he thinks. “Are you going to hurt yourself?”

“Nah. I’m going to kill someone.”

His grip around the ball tightens.

“Haha! Not you, relax,” the stranger laughs, and Hoshi’s fingers are clenched so tightly around his ball that his knuckles are going white. “I’m auditioning for _Danganronpa_ , maybe you’ve heard of it? All the killing I’m doing is going to be perfectly legal, don’t worry.”

“Why would you – why would you want to join something like _Danganronpa_?”

“Could be a number of reasons, really, but it’s none of your business anyway.” He’s grinning when he says this, and Hoshi wonders if he’s being mocked.

“Because you’re depressed?” Hoshi asks anyway. Hoping he doesn’t sound as fearful as he feels.

“Eh, sorta,” he gestures vaguely. “More like I’m a dipshit nobody with nothing left to lose.”

Hoshi balks a little at the frankness of the admission, failing to process it completely, and it must show on his face because the other guy — the bulky, depressed, dipshit nobody of a guy — laughs.

“I guess I’ll stop bothering you about your wall and find myself another one though, no biggie,” he says, and his crimson eyes are momentarily kind. It’s jarring enough to disarm him. “You look like you’ve been through enough already.”

“Wait—” Hoshi scrambles to find the words to follow, but comes up empty. He doesn’t know why he can’t just leave things as they are. The guy doesn’t wait, just keeps going off on his merry way, unruly ponytail trailing behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” He shouts after him. Hoshi wonders if this curiosity is going to end up with him calling the police. He wonders if it’s going to end up with him dead.

“The name’s Gokuhara Gonta,” the guy calls over his shoulder, neither violent or particularly aggravated by the question. Hoshi remembers that there’s always more to a person than meets the eye. “You should do well to remember it when I win _Danganronpa_.”

 

* * *

 

To be honest.

Hoshi only knows _Danganronpa_ conceptually.

But that’s more than most people know, and he envies them.

He can’t seem to escape it.

In his beat-up side of town, kids are raving about it all the time. The police have given up in these parts so crime goes rampant, and _Danganronpa_ is praised without consequence.

 _Danganronpa,_ a killing game where people sign up to die.

A thrilling, chilling killing game where participants are promised the world if they survive.

Hoshi has always thought the show seemed barbaric, a whole brutal cry for attention, but he knows it might just be because he’s never met anyone that actually planned on signing up for it. He’s heard stories of friends of friends of friends filing their applications, but that’s the most of it.

He’s far too detached from the rest of the world for it to affect him. At least that’s what he’s always thought.

He had thought it was a rich kid’s pastime, too, to stave off the boredom of getting everything they want, they find comfort in something unpredictable. Dangerous. Foolish.

Speaking of foolish.

It’s the bad part of town so everybody knows not to go wandering alone, and especially not to draw attention to themselves, but Hoshi doesn’t think to warn the boy he sees traipsing around like he’s asking to be a target.

Polished earrings and designer shoes — this isn’t the place for people like that. Hoshi could tell him to go home. Tell him to forget about where he’s going, leave before it’s too late.

Hoshi doesn’t move, though. Just watches this boy snap a bike lock like it’s nothing and swing his legs over it like he isn’t stealing someone’s property. He watches him cut the brakes with one of the sharp tools in his arsenal, before tossing it carelessly to the ground and taking off down the road like it’s something he does everyday.

He watches him crash his stolen bike into a lamppost and thinks that maybe they aren’t so different after all.

Still, this guy looks like he could _be_ something, and Hoshi knows that whatever has brought him down here is going to be the end of that.

He should speak up, but he chooses silence.

He’s too jaded. Worn out. Indifferent.

If he can barely look after himself, what makes him think he has the right to give other people advice, anyway?

 

* * *

 

He sneaks into the hospital in the evening, using Shinguuji as a cover, though the other boy doesn’t seem to care at all that he’s joined him, merely tips his head in acknowledgment and ignores the fact that Hoshi’s name is plastered on a ‘not welcome’ plaque at the reception desk.

He’s even considerate enough to pull a school cap from his bag and place it on Hoshi’s head, concealing his face from view and effectively obscuring his identity from the flutter of nurses that mill about. They seem far more interested in talking to Shinguuji anyway, and Hoshi tries not to think about how many nights this guy must spend just sitting in the hospital waiting room, getting acquainted with anyone who deigned to speak to him.

“He’s my cousin,” he hears Shinguuji working to explain his presence, voice as calm as ever. A skilful liar, Hoshi realizes. The excuses spill from his mouth smooth as melted butter. “He’s visiting from abroad and he’s very shy. Please do not talk to him, he does not like people very much. You will make him uncomfortable so please allow him as much space as possible. Thank you.”

“Why are you helping me?” Hoshi asks gruffly. “We’re practically strangers.”

“I have a feeling that whatever brings you here must be important,” Shinguuji replies without looking at him. “That, and I have learned that people are never quite what they seem. Whether my assistance is foolish or the right thing to do matters very little to me.”

“Hmph. People will take advantage of guys like you, you know that?”

“I don’t care,” Shinguuji answers and they sit down in the waiting room three chairs down from where they were last time. “Besides, I don’t think you are a bad person.”

“You don’t know me.”

Shinguuji only nods and pulls out his phone. Hoshi looks ahead, observing the hospital workers as they pass, and waiting for the opportunity to slip by without being discovered.

He sees Toujou’s father down the hallway and ducks his head lower, feeling an uneasy feeling creeping up his throat.

“I’ll make sure she never plays again,” her father is hissing as he stalks towards Toujou’s room. Clearly it didn’t matter who could hear, because his voice raises suddenly, a frenzied spill of words from his mouth. “She’s so useless! She can’t do anything! It’d be better if she just stuck to her studies, but she can’t seem to do that either, can she?”

“She couldn’t even get accepted to the lowest entry school and we’ve been trying for three years,” his wife adds. “No matter how many times I tell her to take charge of her future, she’s always skipping off with that racquet of hers and those dirty white shoes. Unsightly.”

“She should have never signed up for tennis in the first place!” He growls, stopping in front of her door. “Why did you buy her the equipment?! It’s your fault she got started, so take responsibility!”

“I thought it was another one of her whims! And now she just refuses to quit! I told you, I’ve tried to convince her countless times!”

“You’re her mother, you should be leading her in the right direction!”

“Listen, we are both her parents and anything that she ends up being is a result of our parenting, don’t you dare for a second try and blame me for the way she turned out!”

Hoshi feels his stomach churning as the patrons in the waiting room all turn their heads away, opting out of the responsibility to intervene.

“Does this happen often?” He asks Shinguuji, who is tapping away at his phone once more. Full combo.

“Yes, but it will pass,” Shinguuji tells him, but his voice sounds worlds away. “It always does.”

 

* * *

 

Toujou’s parents burst into her room with little less grace than they were presenting in the hallway.

Hoshi doesn’t know how long they’re in there but the longer it takes, the more the uneasiness courses through his veins, thrumming, thrumming away.

 

* * *

 

 

He hears a frightful crash, and leaps to his feet. Toujou’s mother emerges in the doorway and hands the nurse a wad of cash. The door slams shut again.

Hoshi feels sick.

 

* * *

 

“They– I– what– they– are they–”

“Breathe,” Shinguuji tells him.

“What are they doing to her?” His fists clench in his lap, and all the concern is evaporating into rage. Only rage. “Are they hurting her?”

“No. Yes. Perhaps.” Shinguuji murmurs solemnly, and he looks genuinely saddened. Hoshi isn’t about to accept this as an answer. “But there is nothing we can do about it.”

“What the fuck! Are you heartless?” He swings his fist into the other boy’s arm, and Shinguuji flinches, coiling backwards. His phone clatters against the floor. Hoshi scowls at him, the unfortunate victim to his pent up fury and fear, _fear_ that all the times Toujou has said her bruises were from practice were not. He’s beginning to realize he might not know her as well as he thought he did and that scares him.

“I’m sorry—” Shinguuji manages to say before Hoshi’s glower halts him in place.

“Why —” he punches him again. “— are you just sitting here letting this happen?!”

“There is nothing we can do. Please calm down.” He repeats more firmly, and this time he catches Hoshi’s fist, nimble fingers unwinding it and setting it on the armrest. “I have recently discovered that the Toujou family own this hospital. If we intervene, there is no telling what will happen. They have made unspeakable threats, Hoshi-kun. I do not want to even utter them aloud.”

Hoshi closes his eyes.

It’s almost too much to take in at once.

The sound of Toujou sobbing fills the silence and his heart sinks, sinks, sinks, like a stone in dark, murky water.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t even see the signs.

He follows Shinguuji to his sister’s room to escape from the noise, from the guilt and the nausea building from his stomach and slowly infecting his entire body.

He’s a coward. He’s a fucking coward but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Shinguuji does not seem to care that he’s tagged along, only wryly reminds him not to start punching him in front of his sister, to which Hoshi responds with a curt and shallow apology for losing his cool like that.

He doesn’t feel the remorse he should, and he scolds himself for it, but he just doesn’t have it in him to feel anything at the moment.

It’s like he’s had the emotions drained out of him and all he feels is tired. Tired and frustrated and murderous — the exception to the emptiness is _yeah_ , he feels murderous, he realizes, but not to the point where he’d actually kill someone, even if he wanted to.

He’s not capable of it, or whatever.

Toujou wouldn’t have anywhere to go without her parents, or whatever.

He’s mad that she never told him even though it makes complete sense that she wouldn’t have, or whatever.

Shinguuji’s soft murmur of, “Good evening, _nee-san_ ,” is what pulls him out of his head, eases him temporarily back into reality, and he turns to greet the sickly woman with a courteous bow.

Thoughts for another time. He can’t do anything reckless. He really will end up at prison at this rate.

“Good evening,” the woman replies, blinking slowly and inquisitively at Hoshi. “And who might you be?”

Shinguuji’s sister is his spitting image, all golden eyes and long, dark hair which falls in smooth inky strands. Even her face possesses all the gaunt angles, albeit her eyes are rounder and complexion exceptionally pale — she is evidently sick, so much so that Hoshi wonders if this woman has any flesh and blood in her at all. She looks ghastly, and if it was not for the brightness in her eyes, he might not have been convinced she was actually alive.

“This is Hoshi-kun,” Shinguuji introduces with an air of indifference. “He is a friend of Toujou-san, and has come to visit her.”

“Ah, Toujou-san has mentioned a Hoshi-kun before,” The bedridden woman tilts her head at him, expressionless, saying, “I’m so glad Korekiyo has made such good… friends with the two of you.”

Hoshi nods as politely as he can, trying not to overthink the pause before the word ‘friends’, and letting his attention fall to the decorations at her bedside while Shinguuji flicks open a stiff square card and hands it over to her.

“Mamiko’s autograph, _nee-san_ , like you requested,” he says, and Hoshi’s brow pinches a little.

“I’m so happy,” She replies. “Mamiko-chan was my favorite survivor.”

Hoshi frowns but continues to peruse the decorations, opting not to contribute to the conversation.

“Her performance under pressure was certainly to be commended,” Shinguuji says. He sounds off, somehow. Forced conversation. Hoshi knows it far too well.

“I think Mamiko-chan is so brave,” she remarks, tracing the signature with her pointer finger. “There is such exceptional beauty in how fiercely she struggled… that richness of human potential… it is so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Shinguuji agrees.

“And Masao-kun’s ode to his little brother! How sweet!”

“Yes.”

“Hmhm, all the season _51_ survivors were so good, but Mamiko-chan is definitely my favorite!”

“Are you talking about _Danganronpa?_ ” Hoshi interjects suddenly. Coldly. Unable to stop himself. All that rage is boiling back to the surface again and it needs an outlet.

The Shinguuji siblings look at him in surprise.

“People kill each other on that show,” Hoshi continues, livid. “How can you enjoy something like that?!”

“Well, not everybody kills each other,” she answers without blinking. “Like I was saying, there are survivors and seeing those survivors learn and grow is one of the most fascinating things about _Danganronpa_.”

“So you’re willing to see so many people die just to watch some lucky few get out alive?” He asks. “Do their lives mean nothing to you?”

“You’re wrong. People in _Danganronpa_ never die,” she says nonchalantly. “When you become fictional, hundreds and thousands of copies of you will exist forever! And you will always be in somebody’s heart — they will write you and they will immortalize you,” she smiles. “Forever and ever.”

“ _Nee-san_ ,” Shinguuji murmurs, “You mustn’t feel so strongly about this killing show. It is getting out of hand. I am growing concerned for you.”

“On the contrary, Korekiyo, I am the happiest I have ever been!”

“Happy?” He inquires, voice faint.

“Yes! To be honest, I’ve signed up myself,” she admits far too loftily. “Because I want to know what it’s like. There’s not much else a dying girl can ask for, is there?”

“I’m going to get a drink.” Shinguuji says, abruptly standing. “Hoshi-kun will be coming with me.”

Hoshi doesn’t protest. He wouldn’t have spent another minute with this woman even if he was forced to.

Shinguuji shuts the door behind them and doesn’t look back at him when he walks away.

 

* * *

 

Hoshi finds him in the bathroom ten minutes later, hunched over the bathroom sink, dark hair dripping all over the floor.

“You look like shit,” Hoshi tells him.

“I feel like shit,” Shinguuji replies coarsely. “I can’t believe my sister wants to join a killing game. I’m not paying all these bills just to watch her die.”

“You know that no matter how much you pay, she’s going to die, right? You can’t be blind,” he drags his hair out of his eyes to meet them, “And I know you’re not stupid. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“You want me to just sit back and let my sister die?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why are you saying, Hoshi-kun? Like you said, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. What makes you think you’re entitled to tell me what I already know?”

“Knowledge is dangerous. Once you know something, it is something you carry with you for as long as remains in your memory,” he narrows his eyes. “Whether you admit it or not.”

“I don’t need your philosophy lesson. What’s your point?”

“She’s crazy,” Hoshi says, because he can’t help himself. He’s hurt, and he wants everyone to feel it, even if it’s not the right way to deal with this at all. All the casualties as a result of his pain – he doesn’t know if he’s capable of feeling sorry for them right now. “And she wants to do crazy things! You can’t save her even if you tried!”

“No, she’s just… she just wants– she’s just, people who know their time is coming will grow reckless, because they’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing to live for. I can– if I just help her come to her senses–”

“This isn’t a situation you’re going to win, Shinguuji.” Hoshi tells him. “From one stranger to another, don’t hold onto hope that isn’t there anymore.”

Shinguuji closes his eyes and splashes his face with water.

“Anyone who wants to be on _Danganronpa_ is suffering, somehow,” Hoshi says. “Because why else would you sign up to die? Maybe this is her way of telling you that it’s time to let her go.”

“You don’t get it,” Shinguuji whispers. “You don’t get it at all.”

Against his better judgment, Hoshi leaves.

He’s too tired to deal with this.

 

* * *

 

A nurse is looking for him when he emerges back into the waiting room, and ushers him over with a tight smile.

“You may see Toujou-san now,” he says, not waiting for Hoshi to react as he nudges him frantically towards the room she’s in. “But make it quick. You must have seen the sign at the entrance. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Says who,” Hoshi bites out.

The nurse shakes his head. “It’s not my place to say, kid. Just be careful, alright? If they catch me letting you in, we’re both done for.”

“I’m perfectly careful when I need to be.” He replies, shoving into Toujou’s room after a brief cursory knock is met with a tender ‘come in’.

Toujou is pale against the bedsheets, almost blending in completely with how frail she looks in this moment and it makes Hoshi feel ill. He has only ever seen her towering over him on-court, healthy and flushed and smiling. Alive.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He suddenly regrets lashing out at Shinguuji in the bathroom. It’s different when he’s standing here, and someone he cares for is suffering.

 _It’s different when it’s you, is it?_ Hoshi thinks bitterly to himself. _Show some fucking empathy, you insensitive prick._

Toujou hasn’t said a word since he entered.

“Are you okay?” He asks, lacing his fingers together and not taking his chances with the seat beside her bed. Even without the nurse’s warning, he finds he wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

He wants to get _her_ out as soon as possible, even though he knows that’s not an option.

“Considerably.” Toujou answers. Her own hands fold in her lap. “Sorry to worry you.”

“Not at all. Your health is important.”

“Of course,” she nods, twice, very decisively. “It is my duty as an athlete to stay in top condition as much as possible.”

He nods back. “Not even as an athlete, but as a person. You should always look after your needs whenever possible.”

“Are you going to tell me to eat more onions?” She jokes quietly, and he tries to smile back at her.

“Obviously. If you’d have eaten more onions, your eye would have been strong enough to destroy the ball immediately.”

“Do onions give you laser vision?” Toujou laughs. Almost normal.

“It feels like it, sometimes.”

“I’m still not going to eat them,” she says, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the ball from hitting you,” he blurts, and the lighthearted atmosphere shatters. Hoshi wants to regret it, but he knows that he can’t keep talking around it, not when he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay here. Where he’s not supposed to be.

“You couldn’t have known,” Toujou replies, and there’s the faintest of fires igniting in her hazel eyes. “I know they’re saying you did it, but I know for a fact that you didn’t. I was there before I was hit, you know.” She glances towards the door, then back at him. “Amnesia, my ass.”

He lets out a startled laugh at that, the way she said it so bluntly and vindictively that he almost mourns the loss of her sweeter self, but he’d find a new fondness in her anger, he decides.

“Well, at least you’re on my side.”

She nods. “And you’re on mine, aren’t you?”

“I am. Naturally.”

“Say, Hoshi—”

She cuts herself off when the door cracks open, and the nurse from earlier peers through.

“Five more minutes,” he whispers frantically. “Please don’t get yourself caught.”

Hoshi nods grimly at him and the door shuts again.

“Listen, I’ve just been thinking a lot recently about how I’ve been such a burden to you and everyone else,” she starts to say again and Hoshi turns around, indignant and shocked by the sudden turn in conversation, but Toujou keeps going. “I guess I just want to feel like I mattered to someone, but now I just feel like a fraud. Like, maybe I belonged somewhere, and maybe you actually liked having me around and I wasn’t just forcing myself into your life–”

He thinks that there is something important she wants to say, but decides against it, and he can’t figure out even an inkling of what it is before she continues over it.

“– well, in any case, there’s no need to worry about it. I was just saying random things, it must be the medication I’m on. It’s dreadfully strong.” Her fingers unfold themselves in her lap and she starts to idly play with the bedsheets. Picking away. Crumpling. Uncrumpling. “What’s happened has happened, and that is all.”

“I get it.” He says, even if he doesn’t entirely mean it. He wants her to know that he understands. He doesn’t want her tackling her demons alone anymore.

She knows him too well to be lied to.

“I want to be capable. I want to have the skills that would make everyone proud of me, I want to be able to play at nationals with you,” Toujou says quietly. “I don’t want to be this broken mass of bones. I don’t want to have one eye. I can’t do anything the same, anymore. And I wasn’t any good to begin with.”

“I’m sorry.” Hoshi tells her and he hopes she can feel how deeply the sentiment runs.

She doesn’t respond, and he feels his stomach tighten uncomfortably. Coiling, coiling into himself.

“Get better soon,” he says.

“I’ll try,” she nods, and the smile that graces her features would be sweeter if it weren’t so damn fake. “Your five minutes is coming to an end. I think it’s time you got out of here.”

 

* * *

 

“Told her not to make friends with that poor, stunted kid—”

“Ruining our reputation—”

“We need to find her a better—”

“– just a waste of our time—” 

“— get her off our hands—”

“— get that tennis boy expelled—”

“— drastic?”

“No – bad influence— it should have hit him—”

“–fine, took care of all of them –”

“Bullshit, our daughter still–”

“— the club is gone, what more do you want—?”

“It’s his fault—”

“She doesn’t deserve—”

“—friends like him—”

“We should have never let Hoshi Ryouma get close.”

 

* * *

 

He peeks his head into the bathroom but Shinguuji is gone. With a sigh, he heads out the door, peeling the cap from his head and looking up at the hospital one last time before trudging towards the subway that will take him home.

It’s all his fault.

He should have known this from the start. Toujou was never meant to stoop to his level. She’s supposed to live a rich and carefree life doing what her parents demand of her, because that’s the safest way for her to live. Her reputation — even without the smarts or talent to get into a prestigious school — is not to be ruined by her choice to play ball with some runt off the streets.

He’s lowly, common, thuggish, and ultimately nothing like a rich girl’s friend.

If he’s friends with her for any longer, he’s only going to hurt her.

 

* * *

 

Gokuhara snorts. “If she says she’s useless, then maybe she is.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m just being reasonable here,” Gokuhara shrugs, catching the ball and throwing it back to him. “I’m dumb and useless, and I just accept that. People aren’t all destined to be great.”

“But you can learn, and change for the better,” Hoshi returns the ball with vigor, and it lands in Gokuhara’s palm easily.

“That’s how they convince you that all your effort is worth it,” Gokuhara replies. “In other words, you adapt or you quit. I just chose to quit while I was ahead, because fuck ‘em. Fuck all of society. Hospitals, schools, rich people. All of ‘em.”

“... I see.”

“Hey, she can still play with one eye if she really wanted to,” Gokuhara points out. “Why the drama?”

“Her parents disbanded the club.” He sighs, dragging his hand over his face. “And they’re not going to let her play again even if she did really want to. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You can still go to school even without the money, you know. We have government-funded schools, so what’s stopping you?”

“I told you, already. Fuck ‘em.”

“Huh. Okay. Why do you still wear your uniform then?”

“Guess I’m still pretending to be a decent person. A good upstanding citizen of society and all that, gotta look the part,” he shrugs, and the ball comes back around. “Not that I’m fooling anybody.”

“Gokuhara.” Hoshi says quietly. “If you weren’t a delinquent, what would you have wanted to be?”

Gokuhara’s harsh features freeze for a moment, as if he’d been caught off-guard. The vulnerability in his expression is brief, but Hoshi doesn’t miss it. “A gentleman.”

He throws the ball back.

“A gentle–”

“Shut the fuck up, you thought I was serious? That’s so lame!” Gokuhara cackles. “Dude, this is why we can’t be friends, you keep thinking I’ve got some good in me, but I’m literally about to sign up to murdering people! No good person in their right mind would do that!”

Hoshi thinks about his words all the way home.

 

* * *

 

At school, Toujou is welcomed back because everybody wants to know what happened and how it happened and they want to see her eye and they want to know if it was scary and if it still hurts and wow, can she count how many fingers they’re holding up?

“Wow, Toujou-san! What’s it like being a cyclops?!”

 _Wow, wow, wow,_ like she’s some kind of circus act. Some kind of freak.

She presses her fingers to her eyepatch and squirms under the attention. Clearly uncomfortable with the questions being fired at her from every direction, she catches Hoshi’s gaze from across the room and silently pleads for him to help.

He doesn’t help her.

 

* * *

 

She understands without him saying anything.

He wishes she didn’t.

If she could stop this feeling of guilt from swallowing him, if she could reach out just for a moment and tell him to come back — it’s okay, _it’s okay, it’s not your fault_ — then he knew he wouldn’t have the resolve to keep this up.

If her hand ever reached out to him, if she ever asked anything of him, he swore would take it and he wouldn’t let her down ever, ever again.

 

* * *

 

When the old goons from the tennis club corner him, needling him with taunts and jabs and jeers, blaming him for the disbandment of their club and reputation, he sees Toujou walking past.

He gets kneed in the throat and thrown up against the lockers.

She keeps walking.

They all laugh. He laughs with them.

God, does he deserve it.

 

* * *

 

Toujou is tripped in the hallway and taunted.

Hoshi’s desk gets vandalized.

Toujou gets pushed down the stairs.

Hoshi is left abandoned on cleaning duty.

Toujou gets mocked for not being able to walk in a straight line.

Hoshi gets drenched in the bathroom and shoved into a storage closet.

It goes on and on and on.

 

* * *

 

Hoshi sits down one evening and binge-watches _Danganronpa_.

He doesn’t really think about it. He just needs to do something mindless now that he can’t — won’t — play tennis anymore and it’s been lurking in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t go away.

No. Actually. He watches because he’s got nothing better to do, and that’s just the saddest part about it.

Life has no meaning, or whatever.

 _Danganronpa_ is a lot like that, too.

It’s all just kill, kill, kill.

It’s fucking sick, that’s what it is, and he feels his heart leap into his throat every time the body discovery announcement plays. He mutes the screaming. The subtitles are enough. Sometimes, he can’t even look.

He keeps the lights on when he can, but in these parts, it’s better to pretend nobody’s home. The darkness just makes it so much worse.

“People volunteered for this?” He asks disbelievingly amidst the chaos of a class trial. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

It’s kill, kill, kill, and he doesn’t know why he keeps watching. Maybe he wants to find reason to it. Maybe he wants to know why everyone in his deadbeat neighborhood won’t shut up about it and why he always seems to be running into it so much lately.

Why Gokuhara wants to sign up. Why Shinguuji’s sister wants to sign up.

Why anybody would want to sign up to die.

“No real person would agree to this,” he mutters, flicking to season _52,_ the most recent instalment, and hoping it’s the finale to this damn series so he can escape this nightmare. “They’re paid actors. Nobody volunteers for this shit.”

The _Team Danganronpa_ logo shines mockingly on the screen. Then, in the darkness, a flame flickers, along with a lofty, casual voice.

“Heh, I guess you know how this goes already, don’t you? Us protagonists all have the same spiel—” Hoshi blinks his bitter eyes in disbelief, leaning forward, closer to the screen. “—you know, we’re the normal ones. The ones that ended up in this awful place, trapped here against our will. For the most part, you’d be right about that, but there’s something you still don’t know about us.”

The protagonist of _DR52_ is eerily familiar. Hoshi can still remember seeing those fingers wrapping around the red wire of the bike lock, silver blade shredding the brakes of a stolen bike.

“Oh, whoops,” he laughs, hand reaching for the nape of his neck. Through the screen, he’s shining. “I guess they don’t want me telling you what that is. That’s okay, you’ll find out soon enough. I guess I should introduce myself before I run out of time, though. Who knows what we’re getting ourselves into? Hey, if you think I’m gonna survive, you should vote now on your phones,” he laughs again. “Of course, I’m just kidding. Your vote isn’t going to change a thing.”

Polished earrings, designer shoes.

“Anyway, I’m Amami Rantarou, and I’m the protagonist of this crazy story. Haha, saying that out loud sounds a little insincere, doesn’t it? I’m not supposed to know all of this, but this video log? Well, this is being recorded before my memories get erased so listen closely. You gotta remember this for me, okay?”

The bike crumpling against the pole, the boy tumbling onto the pavement, smashing his fist against the ground and getting up. Walking away. Leaving the wreckage behind.

“I am going to survive this game, no matter what.”

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Hoshi wonders if he should have said something after all.

 

* * *

 

“Why _Danganronpa_ ,” he asks Gokuhara. “You’re not the futureless bottom-barrel dropout you seem to think you are. You don’t have to do this.”

Gokuhara sighs. “I know. I appreciate that you want to stop me, but this is better for everyone.”

“How is this better?” Hoshi throws the ball at him as hard as he can, and he’s miffed that Gokuhara catches it like it’s nothing. “How are you making anything better by just running away from reality?”

The ball come back with an intense force, and Hoshi lets it rebound off the wall behind him before seizing it.

Gokuhara looks pained. “Do you think I haven’t tried other ways? Tried to be better? Tried to make the days hurt less, told myself I could handle anything, that I could _do_ anything, before realizing that no matter what I did, I still felt stupid and useless at the end of the day?”

“You’re not stupid and useless.”

“I’m not,” Gokuhara responds stiffly. “But I am. Don’t you think that sometimes trying isn’t enough? If you try and you try and you try, and you keep hitting dead ends, that’s — that’s fucking exhausting, alright?”

“I don’t doubt that you’ve tried,” Hoshi says through gritted teeth. “I just don’t know why you’ve chosen to stop trying.”

“I can only take so much,” Gokuhara replies, arms aloft. “I’m not invincible, Hoshi. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m reaching my limit and I don’t know how much longer I can handle feeling like garbage. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I wish _Danganronpa_ wasn’t an option for you.” He tells him. “I wish you had never found out about it. I wish you’d just stayed away. I hope you get rejected and you never get in. Even if you try and you try and you try.”

“Why do you keep coming to talk to me if you’re so against it?” Gokuhara asks, but he doesn’t sound as bitter as he could have. He might just be sad. Hoshi can’t deal with that thought, so he banishes it.

“I don’t know.” Hoshi answers honestly. “I really don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

The weeks at school continue to drag on, and Hoshi’s grown numb to the tormenting, the provocation and the whispering.

People can say what they want. He doesn’t have to listen. Maybe if he outlives this, they’ll finally realize what lowlives they’re being — but probably not, he muses exasperatedly. He gets what Gokuhara means, sometimes.

How tiring life is, or whatever.

But he’s always been tired, so it’s not like anything has changed.

He almost forgets he’s not the only one that’s been designated a victim of cruelty until Toujou finally approaches him. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since they last spoke.

He doesn’t know why she’s here, but he finds he might be better off not knowing. She fidgets with the envelope in her hands before holding it out to him, gaze stern.

“Will you please deliver this to my parents?” Toujou asks him in a hushed tone. “You are the only one who knows the truth.”

“What about Shinguuji?” He retorts bitterly.

She shakes her head solemnly. “After his sister passed, I haven’t seen him since.”

Hoshi shuts his eyes at the revelation, cursing himself for being snippy. If only he wasn’t so damn incompetent at showing some more respect for people. Geez, he’s pathetic. “I’m sorry.”

“It was inevitable,” she remarks, and his head snaps up at her at the coldness in her voice. “His heart is far too weak to stay around here. I have always told him he was better off leaving this place.”

“What do you–?”

“Forget it,” Toujou reverts back to her usual gentle self, and he hates that she’s started making a habit of brushing things off. He hates that he can’t read her habits like he used to.

He hates that they’ve grown apart and it’s all his fault.

Everything’s his fault.

“Whatever, then,” he says, because prying will get him nowhere. “Why do you want me to play mailman for you?”

“It is a complex matter that would take far too long to explain.” She sighs, tugging her fringe over her left eye self-consciously. It has grown long in the time they’ve been apart. “Would you please do this favor for me, Hoshi-kun? I know we haven’t been on the best of terms recently, but… I still trust you. Very much so.”

“Fine.” Hoshi snatches the letter from her hands. “Can you at least tell me why can’t you deliver the letter yourself?”

She smiles almost mournfully. “Because if I did, they might just kill me themselves.”

 

* * *

 

Toujou runs fast.

He knows this very well, and he knows that he will never be able to outrun her even if he put his entire self into the chase – her legs are much longer, her strides much wider, and Hoshi may be agile over short distances but Toujou can race blocks ahead if she puts her mind to it.

He tears open the envelope and like a flash, she’s gone.

He is incapable of following.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Mama and Papa,_

_I was granted early acceptance into Danganronpa._

_The staff at the audition studio were very kind to me while I’ve been visiting. You’ve always berated me for being frugal, but I finally found somewhere to spend all the money I have. I’ve been told that I fit one of the prototype roles perfectly, and it feels nice to be wanted for something._

_They don’t try and beat me into someone I will never be, here. Everybody is so considerate of me, and I’m starting to learn the Danganronpa ways._

_It makes me happy to finally accept the invitation to move into the studio, so I hope that you’ll be happier too, now that I’m gone from your lives for good._

_With love,_

_Kirumi_

_(P.S. Please clear Hoshi of all his charges. I was the one who forced him to be friends with me and forced him to play tennis with me. He shouldn’t be punished for my selfishness.)_

 

* * *

 

He storms into the alleyway Gokuhara frequents with the letter in hand, and the guy stumbles back in surprise before guiding Hoshi to the nearest park to sit down – but Hoshi isn’t here for a courtesy visit.

“She signed up for _Danganronpa_ ,” Hoshi snarls, waving the paper at him. “And she got accepted already.”

“Calm down,” Gokuhara says. “This is a decision she made for herself, Hoshi.”

“She’s applied! You’ve applied!” He rips the letter in half. “Everyone’s fucking applying to this shitshow, like you don’t give a fuck about how I feel about you going–” The paper crumples in his fists. “Tell me, why am I losing all my friends to this fucking show?”

Gokuhara waves a helpless hand, “I already started applying before I met you! And neither of us knew what she was planning– look, I’m really fucking sorry, okay? I’m not withdrawing my app, and I’m pretty sure you already know she’s not backing down.”

“Fuck,” Hoshi slams the shredded paper into the trash. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll kill her if you want,” he offers quietly. As if it’s the only thing he can offer to soothe his woes. To quell his anger.

“No,” Hoshi grits his teeth, and despite everything, his eyes are stinging. “I just. I’m starting to realize that I’m not enough. I’m not enough to keep you here, not worth staying for, or living for. And that fucking hurts,” the tears spring up, but he wipes them away with an aggressive swipe. “If I can’t even stop my friends from killing themselves, then what good am I?”

“I’m not going to die,” Gokuhara reassures him.

“You’re going to kill, and you’re going to get caught, and you’re going to die,” Hoshi snaps. “You think I don’t know how _Danganronpa_ works? When the fuck has a killer ever won the game?”

“I’ll be the first.” Gokuhara declares resolutely. Boldly. Desperately. “It’ll be such an unsolvable murder that even _I_ won’t know how I did it.”

“Fuck you.” Hoshi hisses, stomping down the path and out of sight.

He thinks it might be best that Gokuhara does not give chase, but it doesn’t stop the lump that settles in his throat, and the feeling that the next time he sees him, it’s going to be as a corpse on a tiny screen. The mere thought is making him feel sick.

 

* * *

 

The train gives him no reprieve.

His thoughts keep pounding in his head, the blood in his veins rushing furiously as he seethes, and he’s untangling his headphones when a clique of girls step onto the train with a frenzied conversation he wishes he didn’t have to hear.

“Did you hear about what happened with Shinguuji-kun and Chabashira-san? Apparently, they killed his sister.”

“Oh, holy shit, no way,” a series of gasps. “Is that why they skipped town? That’s so awful!”

“Poor Yumeno-san and Yonaga-san got caught up in it too, heard they were taken because they didn’t want any witnesses,” murmuring, “I hope everyone is alright.”

“I don’t really see Shinguuji-kun as a murderer, he seems too gentle for that,” concerned whisper, “Wasn’t his sister in hospital, anyway? Maybe Chabashira-san somehow…?”

“Chabashira-san was super nice to me though! I don’t think she could be a murderer either.”

“True, but that doesn’t explain why they just vanished, does it?”

“And coincidentally around the time she died, too!”

“Scary! I’m almost glad they’re not here, what if they actually did turn out to be murderers? It’s always the people you least expect, isn’t it?”

“What if we’re all wrong and they were taken out by a serial killer?”

“Oh, come on, I really doubt that.”

Hoshi turns the volume up for his music and tunes them all out. He can’t shake the bad feeling that’s stirring within him. Constantly, constantly. Lurching, crashing against his insides. Breathing is starting to get harder. People are rushing through the doors, crowding him against the wall, and he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw and focuses solely on the beat of his tracks pulsing through his brain.

He feels like if he opens his mouth, he might just throw up then and there.

 

* * *

 

His place is a mess when he arrives.

Raided, he assumes. It’s not the first time he’s been the victim of burglary and at this point he’s well accustomed to being in the shit part of town so it doesn’t faze him like it might have.

Not that he had any valuables to take. It’s just a pain. He might have to clean up, and that’s the last thing he wants to do on a Friday night.

He clears a spot on the floor and lands in it with a sigh. He’s probably not gonna bother eating tonight. Lying down, he stares up at the ceiling and tries to clear his mind.

Thinking is going to cost him.

The neighborhood cat strolls up to his window and he looks at her with empty eyes.

“Are you going to leave me, too?” He asks, a wry and bitter smile touching his lips. “Not that you were ever mine to begin with.”

She sits there on the porch, gazing at him inquisitively. His heart aches a little. He wishes he could afford to look after a cat.

“I think the only reason why I’m still alive is because I’d feel too bad leaving such a mess behind for other people to deal with.” He tells her. “Isn’t it selfish just wanting to die to end it all? I wonder if life is this hard for everyone and I’m just making a big deal out of nothing. If I’m just, you know, weaker than everyone else or something.”

She mews against the glass, putting her paw up against it and he rolls over, putting his own hand to meet her through the window.

“Am I just not trying hard enough to stay alive?”

 

* * *

 

Moriyama from 3-B corners him in the hallway and Hoshi can’t do anything but sigh. How painfully cliché.

He’s gotten used to being confronted now, like Toujou’s disappearance had to have been his fault. Even when grilled for answers, shoved up against walls and doors and lockers, he couldn’t tell anyone where she went.

It’s not like he actually knows the details.

Just _Danganronpa_ , _Danganronpa, Danganronpa._

He wonders when she had decided that glorified dying was the only option left for her to take.

“Hey, Hoshi, are you listening to me or what?”

Hoshi casts his tired gaze on Moriyama and doesn’t say a word.

“You think you can use that attitude with me? You wanna die, Hoshi? What’s a toddler like you gonna do without your bodyguard, huh?” Moriyama sneers. “Or bodyguards, I suppose. I’ve seen you around town with that good-for-nothing Gokuhara too — thought that guy would have died on the streets years ago! Hey, how does it feel without your girlfriend protecting you, little Hoshi? What are you gonna do without her pity?”

Closer and closer, he’s on his approach. Hoshi eyes the window, eyes the classroom door, eyes the bulletin board. There’s only three ways this could go.

Or, four, if he wants to make this quick.

Hoshi kicks Moriyama in the shins and he keels over in surprise. He delivers another kick to his ribs before hightailing it out of there.

He doesn’t see the girl with the phone behind the tree.

Five.

 

* * *

 

“Hoshi-kun. You’re being expelled.”

“I— but I didn’t start it—”

“You are too violent. First the incident with Toujou-san, and now you’ve targeted Moriyama-kun. This has got to stop.”

“ _Sensei_ , please, I’m a third year, I’m going to graduate soon anyway. No other school is going to accept me when there’s only four months left of school.”

“Then forget about graduating. You brought this upon yourself. Needless violence will not be tolerated, Hoshi-kun.”

“Oh, so people throwing me around for the last few months isn’t ‘needless violence’ to you? What about the bullying, the harassment — you think that’s all acceptable as long as I’m the victim, is that fucking it?”

“We have no record of this happening, and please mind your language.”

The hatred in him boils, but realistically, he knows there is nothing he can do.

“I understand, _sensei_.”

Hoshi only relents because he knows that lashing out at them will only work against him. He hopes they’re haunted by their decision to expel him, and everybody involved is brought down with a terribly guilt, but he knows it’s not possible.

They’ve all probably wanted him gone since the start.

 

* * *

 

“I tried to stop them,” Coach Aomori — rather, ex-coach Aomori tells him as he steps into the hallway. “I’m sorry, kid, you don’t deserve this. Any of this.”

“Not much you can do, coach. You don’t want to lose your job, so you should just stand back and watch me go. I get it. Don’t worry. There’s no need to apologize to me.”

“Promise me you’ll find a place that’s kinder to you,” Aomori says. “You and Toujou were two of the best students I’ve ever taught. I don’t want it all to go to waste.”

“I promise. I’ll make you proud,” Hoshi lies, because he knows it’s just not an available option for someone like him. Still, he can’t help but give his teacher something to believe in. “When you see me on television, don’t forget to cheer for me.”

“I won’t,” he laughs, shaking his head, but it all sounds hollow. “Don’t stop until you make nationals, Hoshi. I know you of all people can do it.”

“I’ll work hard.” He tells him. Aomori nods. He looks all too sad to be seeing Hoshi off, but Hoshi feels that deep down, if he had more damns to give, he would be dreadfully sad as well.

Aomori is a good man. He of all people has always believed in Toujou, no matter how many balls she failed to hit, no matter how many points they’ve lost because of her. He of all people has never once belittled Hoshi for his height or stature, or treated him or Toujou any different from the other students in that manner. Hoshi will have to commend him for that one. He hopes Toujou said goodbye before she left.

“Well.” Hoshi clenches his fist regretfully, bowing his head in what he hopes doesn’t read as shame. “I guess I better head off now. Thanks for the past three years. It means a lot.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Hoshi nods, shoving his hands into his pockets and starting off. He’s stopped when Aomori speaks again, the softest disruption to the still air.

“If there’s anything I could ask of you, as a final request from an old teacher of yours, please don’t end up like my daught– I mean, don’t do anything too reckless, alright?” He says it so quietly that Hoshi strains to hear him. “There are so many beautiful things in this world to live for, and you have a whole lifetime to experience them. Even the worst day will come to an end somehow. Hold on to that for me. Got that?”

Before Hoshi can ask him about what he means by all that, he’s already walking in the other direction.

“So long now, Hoshi. I wish you well.”

Hoshi takes a deep breath and clenches his fists tighter. “You too, coach. Stay safe.”

 

* * *

 

Gokuhara is sitting on the steps when Hoshi arrives.

“Back for more ball-throwing?” Gokuhara asks, sounding resigned.

“Is there really nothing I can do to change your mind?” Hoshi shoots back instead.

“Even for you, I couldn’t stay,” Gokuhara says, bowing his head. “There’s so many people that want me dead that I’d be doing the world a favor.”

“Don’t… say things like that.”

“What? It’s true.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite fit his face right. “I’ve been kind to you, Hoshi. If you knew what I was really like, you would never have come back.”

“I don’t think you’re pretending.” Hoshi replies. “I think you’re afraid of being kinder. Because you think kindness is weak.”

“Thank you,” Gokuhara says in lieu of acknowledging his words. Perhaps in fear that he might be right. “For seeing the good in me. That’s all I could ever ask of you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for something like that.” Hoshi drops onto the step beside him, bouncing his ball on the concrete below. “I’m sorry I couldn’t change your mind.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t,” Gokuhara agrees, stealing the ball with a grin, but it’s stale and he knows it. “It would have taken a miracle to save me.”

 

* * *

 

“Last minute sign-ups are this week!” Amami says cheerfully, far too cheerful for the advertisement for a teenage suicide pact. “There’s no harm in trying, and I’m sure you don’t want to miss out! The one-of-a-kind, authentic, heart-pounding killing game experience is here to stay! What are you waiting for?”

 

* * *

 

The days are getting dark so quickly now.

Without being chained to the routine of going to school anymore, time is an endless prison where he’s trapped with nothing but his own thoughts and Hoshi thinks it might just be the end of him.

He switches on his laptop, the sputtering thing. He looks up _Danganronpa_ again with a heavy heart.

Anything to get him out of this cycle of overthinking, overthinking, overthinking.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, Shinguuji-kun, you already got an alarming number of votes! Something about you really appeals to the audience, huh?”

“Amazing!” The last game’s mastermind coos, tucking her deep blue hair over her ear. “With you and Toujou-san in one season, this really might up the cool factor, don’t you think, Amami-kun?”

“Oh yeah, early acceptances are so rare, too,” Amami continues with an enthused noise, “How did you do it? How did you impress the judging panel so quickly? And what kind of talent are we going to see from you in _DR53_?”

“Those are all things you will have to learn with time,” Shinguuji replies, like he’s made for display. Manufactured for show. Like he wasn’t crying in a hospital bathroom weeks ago because his sister signed up for the damn show and she didn’t live long enough to get an answer.

Like he didn’t join the damn show he despised, without a single word of farewell to the people he left behind.

But Hoshi didn’t know him and he didn’t know Hoshi, did he? Why should he care?

Hoshi glares at him through the screen and barely resists striking a hole right through it. It’s his last two weeks with electricity, he thinks. He can’t afford to break anything any further, or it’s never getting fixed.

Not that it matters.

“Speaking of Toujou-san!” Amami chirps, clapping his hands together. “Come on in, Toujou-san, you’ve already got lots of fans speculating on your talent. Would you like to give them a bit of a teaser?”

Toujou enters bashfully, shaking her head. Her hair has been cut short, but Hoshi wishes they’d changed everything so he wouldn’t be able to recognize her. He knows the world will never work in his favor, though. She smiles and it’s sweet and secretive and it makes Hoshi uneasy. “I am quite alright keeping it a surprise as well.”

“Oooh,” the mastermind, Hoshi recalls, her name might be Shirogane, exclaims excitedly, “The two of you are so mysterious, we might have a true mystery- _ronpa_ on our hands! A few more cast members like you and we might have to set it in the Victorian era! A beautiful, historical classic murder mystery- _ronpa_! What do you think?”

“I am rather fond of the aesthetic,” Toujou says, and Hoshi hates that she has to look so distinguished and doll-like. All the rough edges are gone.

“As am I,” Shinguuji remarks. “Though the psycho-pop atmosphere of _Danganronpa_ would make it a rather interesting clash.”

“We were thinking of making it more psycho-punk or psycho-cool this season actually, especially with how the participants are looking so far.” Amami grins and his gaze shoots back to Shirogane. “In any case, with such a cool headed cast, wouldn’t it be pretty fitting to have a detective character, Shirogane-san?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely!” She giggles, scribbling on the notepad in front of her. “A brooding detective type… we haven’t seen one since Kirigiri-san’s _Danganronpa_ days, have we? Any budding detectives wanna sign up?”

“You’ve still got time!” Amami says far too enthusiastically, waving back at the camera. “But _Danganronpa_ is open to all kinds of people, so if you’re looking for a sign to join, here it is! Join _Danganronpa_ today!”

 

* * *

 

Hoshi throws his last tennis ball in the dumpster outside his house with a long sigh.

“Sorry coach,” he mutters under his breath. “I was never going to be able to keep that promise. Wish you had put your faith in someone who deserved it.”

 

* * *

 

“Everybody, meet Iruma Miu-san!” Amami beams, and a blonde girl throws up a peace sign, sticking out her tongue playfully.

“Come on, you’ve got three more days to sign up! Don’t be a little bitch!” Iruma exclaims, thwacking Amami in the arm and the he laughs it off with only a slightly startled shake of his head. “Though we don’t promise any special gifts for participants, I think being in the same season as me is gift enough, dontcha think?”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t want to die,” he tells himself as he’s weighing his options. “Not really. I just don’t want to live, either. I think that’s the problem. I feel like both options aren’t good, because as long as I’m here, I’m going to be a burden, but if I die, I’m going to be a burden, too. I guess it just depends on which one is going to leave a bigger mess.”

 

* * *

 

“Two more days! You don’t want to miss this season of _Danganronpa_!”

 

* * *

 

The streets Gokuhara frequents are empty of him now. Hoshi has no ball to bounce, but he feels his fingers twitching for one in its absence.

There’s not a trace of Gokuhara left here.

He trudges all the way home and makes up his mind.

 

* * *

 

“One more day! Any last minute signups better show up before midnight tonight, got it?! Midnight, tonight!”

 

* * *

 

He signs up for _Danganronpa_ because he feels like he has to.

He feels like if he had to sit back and just watch them all die, he’d rather kill himself while he was at it.

 

* * *

 

When he gets his acceptance letter, it takes him everything not to rip it to pieces then and there.

 

* * *

 

Toujou is casted with a Maid talent, lauded for her elegant features and her determination to assist and serve whenever she could. She’s clearly quite joyed by it, but he thinks she would be joyed no matter what talent she would be granted – they’ve got her wrapped around their finger, and he hates it, he hates it immensely.

The only title he would grant her, being the only person here that knows her at all, would have been Tennis Player.

She deserved it.

All her passion, all her years of training. All the abuse she had endured just to play. Losing her eye on that fateful day.

Thanks to him.

They hand him the title of Tennis Pro like they knew what he had done.

 

* * *

 

Gokuhara, entomologist.

Shinguuji, anthropologist.

Hoshi doesn’t speak to either of them.

 

* * *

 

He has meetings scheduled with cast member Shirogane as his primary points of interaction now, and he doesn’t let his apathy fall in front of her.

She is every personality he has ever encountered and no personality all at once. He thinks she might be changing faces to be someone he might find comfort in, but he hopes she realizes soon that it’s all fruitless.

There is no face she can wear that will make him trust her.

“I heard you and Toujou-san have a history,” she starts conversationally. He doesn’t look her in the eye, instead focusing on the half moons of her nails tapping idly against the tabletop.

“No,” he lies gruffly, as nonchalantly as he can muster. “You must be mistaken.”

“Gokuhara-kun said he knew you, too,” she mentions.

“No.” He lies again. “I have nobody that matters to me.”

“A brief acquaintanceship with Shinguuji-kun, then—”

“I said no,” he snaps, but he still doesn’t meet her prying gaze. “I don’t know anyone here or anywhere and I don’t care about anyone here or anywhere so just drop it already.”

“Nothing, huh?” Shirogane purses her lips. “If not for the people you love, or for the people you know, then what do you live for, Hoshi-kun? What is your motivation?”

“I couldn’t tell you even if I tried.”

 

* * *

 

“Out of curiosity,” Shirogane brings up in another session, tapping a pen to her little blue notebook. “Are you depressed, Hoshi-kun?”

He looks at Shirogane and feels drained. “Not at all.”

“Sad, at least?”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure?” Shirogane asks. “You seem sad.”

“I don’t know, stop asking questions,” he replies, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. “Stop pretending you care, stop acting like you want to know who I am, I’m nobody and I will never be anybody, I have nothing to live for and nothing to die for, and I don’t even know why I’m here, so just do whatever you want. Stop asking. I don’t care.”

“Is that the truth?”

“I don’t care.” He insists. This is all so frustrating, it’s like she’s trying to dissect him and he doesn’t want to think about it at all. The more she dug, the more she’d realize that there was nothing, anyway. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Think what you want. I don’t care.”

 

* * *

 

He avoids the other participants as much as possible, but it’s only a matter of time until he’s cornered.

“Hoshi,” Gokuhara starts regretfully, finally approaching him with a defeatedness to his gestures. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, so now you don’t want me here either?” He shoots in response, shoving his fists in his pockets.

“I don’t want you to die,” he hisses. “You were— you had a future. To live for.”

“And so did you but you signed up anyway,” Hoshi snaps back. “Everyone I care about decided to sign up to die so why can’t I?”

“You were so against it, I don’t understand— you never said anything, I thought this was the last place you wanted to be. I thought you were safe.”

For the first time, Hoshi thinks Gokuhara might be scared. Afraid of what _Danganronpa_ is capable of. Or what they would do to him.

“Hoshi, please, why did you come? Can you please tell me why you’re here?”

He didn’t know Gokuhara cared.

“Please tell me it wasn’t because of me.”

That seizes his heart like a butterfly net, but Hoshi isn’t as fragile as he looks and he breaks through it with the temper that flares up when he’s challenged emotionally. That burst of emotion that bubbles through his system and explodes out of his mouth.

He can’t stop it.

“Of course it was you! Fuck you! I wish I had never met you!” Hoshi snarls. “You were the final straw! If it wasn’t for you, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now!”

Gokuhara genuinely stumbles backwards at that, and his mannerisms are so different, he’s so ready to curl into himself as well that Hoshi wonders what _Danganronpa_ plans on doing with him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, mothers and fuckers, we have got to calm down over here!” Iruma appears at the door with her arms crossed and she looks between them with a frantic gaze. “We don’t want anybody dying before the season starts, so you boys need to cool your heads and walk off, alright? Oi Gokuhara, c’mere, gigantor. Stop pickin’ on the chump.”

Iruma leaps up and whispers something in Gokuhara’s ear and they both step back into the hallway, new destination in mind. Iruma’s hand is tight on his arm, and despite all her bravado, she looks wholly unnerved to be here.

“Bye, Hoshi, it was nice meeting ya for real,” Iruma calls just before they go.

“Later, Hoshi.” Gokuhara chimes in softly. Too soft to be himself. He’s changing, too. “I’ll see you around, alright?”

The last lingering look Gokuhara sends his way makes Hoshi want to damn the world for ever letting them meet again and again until his ever meeting Gokuhara was wiped from his mind completely.

 

* * *

 

“What about your romantic inclinations? Would you prefer to have a love interest or not?”

“Next question or no more questions,” Hoshi says.

Shirogane sighs, almost looking defeated, but he knows it’s all a ruse. “You are certainly difficult to talk to, Hoshi-kun. I wanted you to give me some suggestions about what you’d like your character to be like, but you won’t tell me anything at all.”

“Why did you accept me anyway?” Hoshi inquires skeptically. “I’m sure there were hundreds more people that would have jumped at the chance to be accepted.”

“I had my reasons. You should see this as an opportunity you volunteered for,” Shirogane answers and it’s so breezy, like it doesn’t matter why he’s here since he’s not getting out anyway. It’s true, but he wonders if Shirogane saw something in him that pushed him over the line.

He wonders, because there’s really nothing special about him except that he’s gotten this far and is still not sure if he really wants to live or die.

 

* * *

 

Shinguuji is in the waiting room, fittingly, when they cross paths again.

He doesn’t look at Hoshi, but he whispers something into the still air that brings Hoshi pause. “You’re crazy, and you’re here to do crazy things. Has this all been a sick joke to you?”

“It hasn’t. And I’m sorry, about your sister, I mean.” He answers genuinely, and still Shinguuji does not look at him.

It’s only when Amami and Shirogane step into the room that his head lifts, and Amami breezes past Hoshi to unlock the meeting room door. Hoshi stares after him for a moment, so uncertain about how much of him is real and how much is fake that Hoshi wonders if it’s finally time he should say something.

Can someone with the nail-biting ferocity of Amami in _DR52_ really melt so quickly back into this relaxed, upbeat mold? The juxtaposition is almost terrifying.

 _Did Danganronpa do this to him?_ Hoshi wonders, but doesn’t linger on the thought.

“Where’s Akamatsu-san? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Amami tosses over his shoulder, and Shirogane’s face remains remarkably blank as it looks around.

Shinguuji shrugs, wringing his hands together, curling in on himself slightly. Without his phone, he seemed lost. “Her promotional video, uh, went out today. She… might be avoiding the attention. Or at least, that’s what I’d infer.”

“Of course she is,” Shirogane clips, sounding irritated. Under her breath, she mutters, “She’s so careless.”

“Oh! And Hoshi-kun!” Amami exclaims, already moving onto his next observation. “You’re early! I’m glad you could make it! Shirogane-san dug up a draft earlier to discuss with you so you can head in with her now, I’m gonna dash off to track down Akamatsu-san, but make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“We have cookies!” Shirogane chirps in that strange cheer she has at the oddest of times, clutching her folder to her chest as she skips inside the unlocked room. Odd, odd, odd.

“Shinguuji-kun, can you make sure to let us know if Toujou-san drops by? She has a shoot lined up this afternoon, just knock so Shirogane-san knows, I don’t know how long I’ll be chasing Akamatsu-san when she’s on the loose,” Amami laughs, passing Hoshi another time, and he smells like clean linen but Hoshi imagines a bloody pavement instead. He still doesn’t have a hold on Amami’s character, and he doubts he ever will. He slips through comprehension just like water in his hands.

“Ah, right, um, of course,” Shinguuji nods hesitantly, looking entirely out of place. He’s much less composed without the cameras in his face.

Hoshi is still thinking of Amami sprawled out on the pavement so many months ago.

He had looked so empty.

“Hoshi-kun, are you coming?” Shirogane asks with bright round eyes, and it’s much too innocent for someone like her.

He takes a deep breath and follows Shirogane into her little planning board room.

Nothing he says is going to change a thing, he supposes, so he doesn’t bother.

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to be hopelessly depressed,” Shirogane says, as if she has the right to do so. Her pen goes tapping on the desk. “Well, more than you already are.”

“I’m not depressed.” He tells her, but he feels every bit like he must be.

He’s not sure what he’s afraid of when he denies it out loud, but maybe it’s just that if he admits there’s something wrong with him, then the balance between living and dying would tip in favor of death.

And for the first time in a long while, he realizes he doesn’t know if he’s actually prepared to die.

 

* * *

 

“Listen, Hoshi, this wasn’t how everything was supposed to go,” Toujou begins, reaching out a delicate, gloved hand. He wants to tear it off and expose the callouses there, expose the raw heart of the girl that isn’t the regal, poised service girl they’re writing her out to be. Toothy grins, clumsy hands. All gone.

He stares blankly at her. “I don’t care, anymore. You did this. You brought me here. You all brought me here. I could have lived a life without coming here, but you all brought me here.”

“I didn’t want you to come.” She says, pulling her hand back and looking just as lost as he feels.

“I’m on your side, aren’t I?”

She gives him a pained smile and tips her head forward. Regal, poised service girl. Courteous. Polite. Unfeeling.

She bows.

“And I’m on yours.”

 

* * *

 

He’s sitting outside his house when he’s kidnapped, all men in suits and ties dragging him wilfully into their car and driving off.

He thinks about Toujou, and how he didn’t step in when she needed him. Thinks that if her hand ever reached out, if she ever asked anything of him that he was capable of performing, he swore would take it and wouldn’t let her down ever, ever again.

But that will not happen.

Not if he doesn’t fight back. If he’s taken away, he might never even see her again. He would never get to apologize.

Hoshi doesn’t care. Somehow, he doesn’t feel alive enough to care.

In the front seat, they all laugh.

He laughs with them.

God, does he deserve this.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in a dark place, disoriented but resigned.

He doesn’t miss the teal-gray skirt that slips outside, the sweeping hair of the girl that owns it concealing her left eye from view completely.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in a dark place, and hell if that ain’t familiar. He’s been shoved in so many corners and closets and crannies that it barely surprises him, and he pushes at the metal door until it gives way — far too easily — allowing him to slip out of the locker and into a grassy, overgrown hallway.

It takes him three steps to realize he’s not in prison anymore.

It takes him another to realize that he’s still trapped somewhere that looks nothing like home, and it’s possible he always will be.

 

* * *

 

His steps are heavy. His gait, heavy. Head, heavy.

Walking feels like dead weight heaving, but he keeps going.

Keeps looking up at these people. The idealistic saviors, the bright-eyed Akamatsu and the meeker Saihara that follows alongside her. The boisterous Momota, childlike Ouma, snivelling Iruma, aloof Harukawa. Shinguuji nonsensical in his ramblings, Yonaga delusional in hers, Gokuhara with a heart too big for this place and Shirogane with her mind always elsewhere.

Yumeno, unmotivated, Kiibo, uninformed. Chabashira, honest to a fault, Amami, cryptic to one.

Hoshi, wishing he could understand their desperation to escape, when he didn’t care either way.

From these bars to the next, he had nowhere to go, no matter what.

He said he would be fine with dying.

Somewhere deep down, he had hoped that it would not come down to it, but he has accepted that if it must, then it will.

He has nothing to live for, so he’s okay with dying.

Amami said he would stop that from happening, and end this killing game.

Then Amami died.

Hoshi realizes that might be a sign that he has to go next.

 

* * *

 

He had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. It was all he had.

With Akamatsu swinging by her neck, Hoshi finally understands that hope is a worthless thing to have.

 

* * *

 

When Toujou approaches him, he has to admit that he’s not all that surprised.

Someone was going to snap, and he hadn’t been taking bets but he figured even someone like Toujou must have had a better purpose than he did.

When she shows him the video, he understands.

Not only does she have the will to live, no, it’s so much more.

She has the will to live stronger than any other, stronger than his pathetic lack thereof, and she is willing to kill them all for it.

It’s terrible wrong, he knows it is, and yet he can’t help but admire her a little for having that.

 

* * *

 

Also it’s funny, he thinks, that she chose to justify murdering him before doing so. Like, maybe she was trying to give him some reassurance that he’s going to die for a reason, that he’s going to die for the nation like a martyr. A hero.

It’s not a comfort for dying, but it’s better than nothing.

He thinks he might owe Toujou one.

He hopes she makes it out alive.

 

* * *

 

He turns his back to her, murmuring empty words about picking up tennis balls and accepts his fate.

The impact cracks him like a faultline. He goes down without a fight.

It’s better this way.

 

* * *

 

At least it was.

Since.

He had thought that was the finishing blow.

Yet he still wakes somehow, suffocating, drowning, splashing water and scraping metal against metal and he hears Toujou whispering, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” and he’s convulsing involuntarily, he can’t breathe, everything is pulsing in blurs of black and gray and he can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t – function – he’s going still, still as dead of night, and he thinks she might be crying.

It might just be the water in his ears, the water swirling in his head, cold and merciless, but there’s a tremble in her wrist and her grip on him is loosening.

 _Oh_ , he thinks sadly. _Toujou. It’s my fault again, huh? I didn’t mean to make you cry._

Toujou — with her one eye, with her burning determination, with her racquet-spinning and the way she smiles after scoring a point.

Toujou — the prime minister of Japan, who would callously sacrifice their lives to serve the lives of many more.

She doesn’t deserve this.

 _But this is Danganronpa,_ Hoshi realizes, and the clarity steals his instinct to struggle anymore. The horror that none of this will be worth it, that they will both die for nothing saps the last of his strength to fight, and the only thought that lingers in his mind is the dreadful understanding that _she’s not going to get out of this one alive._

He only hopes they will go easy on her.

The last thing Hoshi wanted was to leave such a mess behind.

 

 


End file.
